


A Million Words

by thatchickwithesocks



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anxiety, Joel Morricone Alias, M/M, Paranoia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Tags will update as we go, Violence, as well as writing practice, comedy to cope, on the run hanzo, on the run mccree, serious and goofy at the same time, they be assholes, this is v much a vent fic, warning the old men are mean to each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-04-29 08:19:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14468652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatchickwithesocks/pseuds/thatchickwithesocks
Summary: Joel Morricone is a simple man who enjoys travelling the world, writing about the truth of what's going on in it and making friends along the way. Jesse McCree however, is a lot more complex. The vigilante on the run with an almost debilitating addiction to both nicotine and alcohol has not one bounty on his head, but multiple. With the police, Talon, Overwatch, and every criminal on the street out for him, he doesn't have time to worry about much other than keeping a low profile. But one night his plans change, as the ex-heir to the Shimada empire learns who he really is and they both end up working together in an effort to make it out alive.





	1. An Article's Worth A Thousand Words

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you for reading my fic!! It's p serious at times and goofy at others and doesn't really get to the romance until waaaay later, but I'm glad there's someone else out there who was interested in somth like that c: This fic is mostly an outlet for me to vent my creativity into, as well as practice for a more serious and long term writing style. If you catch any mistakes or feel like somethings just out of place, please feel free to tell me in the comments. Or if you just wanna say hi or scream w me abt mchanzo thats cool too!

_ Click. _

 

_ Click, click. _

 

_ A couple of taps at his keys aaaaand-- _ “Published.” Jesse grinned, leaning back in his chair as he stretched. A groan left his lips as he finally moved from the hunched over position he’d been in for the last couple of hours. Eyeing the screen in front of him, he could already see a couple of hits popping up on the site’s counter, a smile accompanying the thought of what his loyal readers would think of the new piece he’d put out on the current state of Vishkar’s stocks after the attack on their base of operations in Rio.

 

“Gotta hand it to whoever ran that op,” He said to him as he lit a cigar. “Did a damn good job of scarin’ the shit outta those architects.” He chuckled, remembering the faces of the staff who’d been interviewed about the incident on the news that morning. He wondered if he could manage to track down the leader of the movement, there were rumors and speculation leading to a local DJ being the one responsible for rallying the people like that, but so far, no solid proof. He blew smoke and clicked his tongue. Even if he did have any traction on that story, probably wouldn’t be best for him to go prodding around in an area on such high alert, especially with how things were now. Police were likely swarming the area, along with Vishkar’s personal lackeys. No, “Joel” would be better off keepin’ his head down for a bit.

 

Huffing, the gunslinger dropped his head back against his seat, letting his eyes drift around his room lazily. It was late, and with only the light coming from his laptop he could barely see anything… except for a familiar flash coming from the pocket of a pair of discarded pants. He sighed, pulling his cigar from his mouth and sitting up, eying the annoyance with a grimace. Yet another reason to stay put. It was almost every day now that Winston was messaging him on his old Blackwatch-issued responder, asking if the cowboy was going to return, if he was okay, where he was, what he was doing--it was enough to drive anyone up the wall. Just thinking about it was starting to rile him up something fierce. Calming himself down, Jesse turned to look anywhere else.

 

Overwatch was dead. It’d died years ago, taking the only family he’d had with it.

 

“...No use cryin’ over burned bases…” He muttered, putting out his smoke before closing his laptop and getting up. He needed a drink, and that bottle of whiskey he’d bought on his way home was singing like a siren.

 

 

* * *

 

 

McCree awoke the next morning with a throbbing head and a dry mouth. Everything was too bright, and the noise of cars and a passing train were far too loud to be legal. His arm was sore too, shit, he’d forgotten to take off his prosthetic. He’d regret that. Now? Later?  _ No, definitely now. Ow, fuck. Son’uva- _ He forced himself to sit up, realizing that he had somehow managed to get himself into bed before passing out the previous night. Quite the achievement, considering he didn’t even manage to do that most of the nights he was sober. He’d take that as a win. _ It’s the little things.  _ Hyping himself up, the still-hungover “blogger” made himself get up and try to perform somewhat of a daily routine.  _ Oh god even your reflection even looks scared of you! Ooh, hello morning breath. Fuckin’ christ almighty I should just guzzle the damn mouthwash at this point… And where the hell did I put my razor? Shit. Oh, wait, there it is. There we go! Look at you! All presentable and lookin’ like you don’t want to lay on the floor and never get back up. Alright let’s get into the shower and then we’ll see if I remembered to buy any food... _

 

Admittedly the hot water was a welcome sensation, as were the actual bottles of soap and shampoo he’d stocked his bathroom with once he’d set up shop in the apartment. Really, he couldn’t have better planned his last remaining alias, the only one to actually survive after he’d left everything behind. Joel Morricone was informed and well-travelled, yet completely ordinary and unassuming. He had a decent amount of wealth accumulated under the name (who said you couldn’t make some money under your false identity?), and with no connections to overwatch or blackwatch in any way whatsoever, there was absolutely no way to trace it back to him. It was perfect… So why did he still feel like shit?

 

Rinsing off and grabbing a towel, Jesse stepped out of the bathroom just in time to hear a ping from his cell. Or, Joel’s cell, to be more specific. Walking over and checking the screen, he could see a flurry of new emails in his inbox-most of which were spam-however one stuck out to him in particular.

 

“NewTech…” He read absentmindedly.

 

“Shit, ain’t they that fancy ass Cybernetics company?” He asked, tapping the screen to open the message.

 

**SUBJECT: NewTech Cybernetics Corp. Would Like to Invite You to Dinner**

 

**Hello Mr. Morricone, this is Samuel Achebe of NewTech Cybernetics. I am pleased to announce that our labs have developed a new and improved line of high-tech cybernetic prosthesis that will soon be available to purchase not only in Numbani, but worldwide. Before announcing this publicly however, we have decided to hold a private dinner with honored guests such as yourself in attendance, allowing you to see the new models firsthand and hear directly from the teams behind their development. We here at NewTech pride ourselves on….**

 

McCree skimmed the rest of the email, his eyebrows rising with every word he read.

 

It sounded… too good to be true, to be honest. NewTech was one of the finest places out there to make advanced prosthetics, only coming short to a few military models he’d seen in his youth (which, of course, would never be available to the public, hell, half the reason things had escalated like they had was because of a certain cyborg). But he couldn’t fathom why they would want someone as small-time as Joel there asking questions. _ I mean, sure, I’d know what to ask, my arm proves that if anythin’. But damn, I ain’t usually asked to come to these… In fact I’m usually asked to stay out of it. What’d they say last time? Too opinionated? Polite way of sayin’ keep your trap shut about what you don’t like. _

 

Thinking about it wasn’t really necessary, it’d be a crying shame to turn down an invite like that, but as he moved to reply, he felt a pang of paranoia in his throat.

 

He’d stick out like a sore thumb there, surrounded by posh and pompous types alike, the only one with any sense to ask the hard stuff. Skip the fluff, dig for gold. Would it be a mistake? Would he end up blowing his cover? Maybe it was worth it just to stay in place, ignore it and keep commenting on the current political climate from the safety of his apartment complex…

 

At that moment, the whrr of something vibrating stirred him from his thought spiral, and looking over he saw his responder, flashing as usual. Frowning, he looked back at his cell.

 

“...Oh what the hell.” He decided, tapping out a short but polite reply confirming his presence at the press conference.

 

“Time to pack… And put some pants on.”

 

After getting himself situated and gathering the essentials necessary for his trip, McCree soon came to realize that he really had nothing  _ to  _ pack for such a prestigious affair. He was just so used to wearing what was comfortable, never really going out, and certainly not events like  _ this _ . Sure he had one or two suits, but nothing too fancy. Besides, it’d been so long since Joel had even made a public appearance. What kind of fashion sense did the writer even  _ have _ , it was hard for him to recall. Humming irritatedly, McCree quickly set about looking up the nearest tailor.

 

“Looks like plane tickets aren’t the only thing I’m buyin’ today.”

 

Catching his reflection in the screen of his cell he pondered for a second, running a hand over his beard.

 

“Hell, why stop there? After all, what good’s an alias if y’don’t look the part?”


	2. Two Faced

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry these chapters are turning out to be so short! I'm writing them purely on how they feel, cutting them off whenever I feel is best. I promise as we get into the plot some more they'll get a bit longer though. As for right now I don't really have any sort of schedule planned for how I'm gonna publish these? I'm pretty much just putting them out as soon as I finish writing and reading them over.

“Excuse me miss, I believe I got a room here under the name Morricone? Joel Morricone.” Jesse said, flashing a smile sweeter than molasses at the receptionist behind the counter. The omnic nodded to him before tapping at her holoscreen, the lights decorating her face lighting up a peaceful blue as she gave him directions.

 

“We hope you enjoy your stay Mr. Morricone.” She said as she handed him his keycard.

 

“Thank you kindly.” Tipping his hat with card now in hand, he turned to look for the elevator, beginning to lose the doubt that had plagued him on the plane ride there. After all, it was easy to lose yourself in a city like Numbani, so vivid and bustling with all kinds of folks. Jesse couldn’t even begin to remember why he’d been so worried in the first place. “Eh, force of habit.” He mumbled to himself as he ascended the building in the compact glass box.

 

He had a beautiful view of the entirety of the city from here. In the distance, he could spot towering skyscrapers, bright animated holovids and several hovercars whizzing by. It was a gorgeous sight, but with the ding of the elevator indicating he’d reached his floor, he reluctantly began to step awa-

 

“ACK!”

 

_ Ow, ow, OW, okay, the floor is hard here, good to know.  _ Jesse thought, wincing as his backside collided with the not-so-plush carpet underneath his feet.

 

“Watch where you are going.” A low voice grumbled.

 

Looking up he saw a man in a coat, face covered by a ridiculously large collar ( _ fashion was weird these days _ ) drawn about the bottom half of his face. Although his mouth was hidden, it was obvious that the stranger was frowning at him.

 

“My apologies friend,” Jesse chuckled, shoving himself off the ground with a grunt. “Didn’t see ya there.” He smiled despite the other’s glare and stepped out of the way when the man huffed and shoved his way past, obviously not intending to stay and chat. As the elevator doors closed behind the stranger, Jesse breathed a sigh and continued on his way to his room. No time for beatdowns at the moment, oh no. Because if Joel wanted to do any of the sightseeing he’d planned to, he had only a couple of hours to fit it in before he’d have to hightail it back and get ready for that night. Whistling an old tune, he came across his door, unlocked it, and began to unpack.

 

It didn’t take him long to get settled in, only bringing the necessities for his trip, and once he was out and about the streets he’d admired previously, it was easy enough to acclimate to his new surroundings. With streets bustling and lively, filled with crowds that moved like a river under the brilliant sun above, Jesse found everything from tourist traps to omnic upgrade suites. Sprinkled about were air-conditioned stores giving relent from the heat, hosting a variety of different fashions ( _ this shirt make me look fat? _ ) that left him with both a lighter wallet and an armful to carry back with him. A tucked away shop down an alley greeted him with exotic smokes from around the globe ( _ well, when in Rome, right? _ ) and gave him an excuse to stock up while he could. A quick stop by a food truck at the insistence of his growling stomach led him to catch the sight of several posters hanging high above the city’s walkways, sporting a brilliant array of green and promising some sort of concert happening soon. One well earned meal later and with arms feeling heavy, the sun just starting to stray behind the horizon, McCree figured it was time to head back. 

 

Back at the hotel, he found that a quick shower and a slow burning cigar on the balcony was more than enough to restore his aching muscles, easing up any tension he held as he watched the sun set. Behind him, the holo screen filled the room with a fuzzy blue hue, the reporter on screen covering what looked to be a recent attack on one of Russia’s biggest mech-making facilities. Normally he’d have had an article out on the event already, but at the moment, he had far more pressing matters.

 

“Should I go with the red, or the blue?” He asked himself, holding two suits up to his reflection. The decision wasn’t an easy one, even on a good day, but the fact that the face staring back at him was still relatively new didn’t make it any easier. Before even stepping foot on the plane here, he’d gone to immense lengths to alter his appearance. A few calls to an old friend and he’d managed to get ahold of one of the latest cosmetic modifiers on the cybernetic black market. The piece was small, almost untraceable, and implanted into one’s scalp. It could only alter his face, but hell if he didn’t already have trouble recognizing himself  After switching it on his once wild and brown hair had since been tamed, cut and gelled back and colored a natural looking dirty blond. It’d also shaved off most of his facial hair, leaving only a small albeit impressive groomed mustache. He’d chuckled at the sight of it.

 

“Morrison himself couldn’t get me to meet regulation… now look at me….”

 

Now with two choices before him, he sighed.

 

“About to head off to one of the most technologically advanced cybernetics company in the world, and more than ever I need an old fashioned coin flip.” He muttered, scanning the room for a quarter.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“-And I said “Bona sera señor, what can I get-a you to drink-a?” The group around him burst out laughing.  _ Dear christ, the snort on that one. _ He thought with a chuckle.

 

“No, no, it’s true I swear! I have no idea why my young mind thought that was a convincing accent, but needless to say I was fired on the spot. A shame too, had I stayed I might’ve had a chance to see what unfolded later on up close.”

 

“Monsiuer Morricone, you must stop with the stories before I burst from laughter.” A kindly old donor chuckled, patting his shoulder as he wiped a tear from his eye. Jesse simply shrugged and smiled, raising his glass of champagne. “To good friends and a good laugh!”

 

“Here, here!”

 

After mingling about a bit more, exchanging contact info and chatting up potential interviewees, Jesse took a moment to step outside, lighting a smoke and leaning against the balcony. It was nice and quiet out here, a small chance for him to breathe before diving back into the fray. He was surprised however, by how much he was actually enjoying himself. Back in Deadlock, hell, even in Blackwatch he would have turned his nose up at the thought of hanging around these sorta types. Hoighty toity, he thought, stuck up rich folks who did nothin but waste their time throwing silly parties.

 

But after a good chunk of time on the lam? This was heaven.

 

He’d eaten good food, had a good number of drinks, talked with some colorful folks, and nabbed more than enough to entertain Morricone’s fanbase for at least a few weeks. Blowing smoke, he looked up at the moon and smiled.

 

“Needed a breath of fresh air?”

 

“Hm?” Jesse turned just as the clouds blocked out the night’s only light, unable to make out the silhouette of the man exiting the party to join him. “Well I’d hardly be a gentleman if I smoked this inside.” He said with a shrug, putting out his cigar and stashing it away for later.

 

“Do you fancy yourself a southern gentleman then, Mr. Morricone? Forgive me, I overheard you introducing yourself to the others inside and became… curious.” The man stepped forward, extending a hand just as the clouds lifted once more, shining just enough light from the moon to show his face.

 

“I am Seto Majima, current financial advisor to th-”

 

McCree couldn’t breathe.

 

He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe, and he  _ sure as hell _ couldn’t pay attention to whatever the hell this man was saying.

 

Because this man, in fact,  _ was not  _ Seto Majima.

 

Not with black hair drawn back (gelled?), but with a single bang popping up out of place. Not with that stance or structure, like an athlete that had been trained to perfection. And certainly not with the tattoo hidden barely under his shirtsleeve, but still managing to peek through the space between his watch and the fabric.

 

This was Hanzo Shimada. The ex-heir to the Shimada empire. The assassin who had attempted to murder his own brother in cold blood, leaving him for dead… Until Blackwatch showed up. God… He could still remember that mission, the hell they went through to save that poor man’s life. The international outrage barring Reyes from taking action in later ops… And the anger. The actual waves of murderous rage that seeped off the cyborg that McCree had known as Genji Shimada.

 

And this was also the man he’d bumped into earlier that very morning.

 

Oh **_hell._ **

 

That realization was enough to sober him up, but worse still was that this meant he’d probably walked in on some sort of meeting between this master assassin, and god only knew who else. Thankfully however, mister Shimada seemed none the wiser as to who was standing only a couple of feet in front of him. But damn it all if McCree was gonna stick around and try to play it casual.  Swallowing, the mercenary gave a reluctant smile.

 

“Well, I hate to waste your time like this, Mr. Majima, but like you said, I came out here to try n’ clear my head. Think I had just a few too many drinks t’night, and I’ll probably be better off if I head out while I still remember what hotel I’m stayin’ at.” He chuckled, sweat begging to bead on the back of his neck. “Hate to disappoint, but you know how it is. Besides, I’m sure I’m not the only one with a plane to catch in the mornin’.” He said, eyes drifting over the other’s shoulder… and connecting with a cold stare from indoors.

 

For a moment, he froze.

 

_ Shit. Shit... shit, shit, shit,  _ **_shit!_ **

 

“Mr. Morricone…?” “Majima” Asked, turning to see exactly what had stopped the man in his tracks.

 

The woman in blue, known for her shot was thankfully not carrying her usual weapon, but instead baring an icy glare, purse in hand, eyes on the Shimada outside.

 

“ _ Fuck _ .”

 

_ Fuck!? Why is he-no time for that!  _ McCree thought, hand going for his gun, tucked safely under his shirt. Like he’d ever part ways with good ol’ Peacekeeper, the thought alone made him want to laugh.

 

Unfortunately for him however, he didn’t get much of a chance to do anything, as he turned to the assassin next to him to shout a warning-or perhaps an accusation. It didn’t matter, because all he was met with was a force slamming him to the ground, pain blossoming in the back of his head, and then darkness.


	3. Good Things Come to Those Who Shoot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, so this is where most of the violence n whatnot starts to get a lil bit more detailed. As I write this I'm not particularly inclined to go super into detailed into gore or descriptions of pain or anything like that, but I know this kinda stuff irks some folks so if thats not your cup of tea, this might not be the fic for you, sorry about that!

Dripping water… The sounds of a TV off in the distance… Were those shoes? Clacking across the flo-

 

**_*SMACK*_ **

 

“Wake. Up.” A painfully familiar voice seethed, gripping McCree by the jaw and forcing him to look up through the stinging of his cheek. His head boomed with pain, and the lights illuminating the room were nearly blinding, but he made himself focus, only to let out a groan at the face in front of him.

 

“Howdy there Mr. Majima, or wait, should I be calling you Shimad-HCK!” His slurred remark was cut short as the assassin threw him to the ground, a particularly painful move as he began to realize that he’d been tied to a chair of some sort. Oh.  _ OH _ .

 

“This an interrogation?” He spat, giving a sharp laugh. “Well don’t I feel special. Might have to give me a minute though sunshine, I haven’t been through one o’ these in quite. A. While.” He chuckled, but was interrupted by a series of coughs.

 

_ “Southern gentleman my ass.”  _ The Shimada mumbled, pressing a foot to the American’s side, diggin his heel into his ribs. “Tell me Jesse McCree, were you simply posing as Morricone? Or was the alias a falsity provided by Talon themselves?” He asked, the shock of the words only providing him a split second of confusion before the pressure on his ribcage sent him gasping in pain.

 

“Ack! Wha-? What the hell’re you-GAH!”

 

“Do not take me for a fool! I know exactly what you were planning.” He grimaced, removing his heel and folding his arms. “I admit, however, I was not expecting this sort of tactic from Talon. To think your plan would have worked had I not been an avid reader of Morricone’s pieces.” He snorted. “It was your authenticity that was your downfall, cowboy.”

 

“Now you listen here yo-GCK!”

 

“Have me meet with the one called Widowmaker? Ask me to join your forces one last time before they finally stopped? Perhaps it was my fault for thinking that you scum would actually leave me be if I allowed you one, ONE meeting to give me your proposal. But no, instead you plan to stab me in the back. I should have suspected as much.” McCree was having a hard time concentrating on the man’s words as spots began to dance in his vision. His heart was going a million miles a minute as his attacker began to pace the small room, a bathroom? Wait, this looked like they were in a hotel room…  _ His  _ hotel room _. Oh joy. _

 

“Let me guess.” The archer proposed. “The sniper was meant to convince me one last time to join you, give me a list of all the benefits of such a partnership, as was done for my father, and his father before him. However, knowing that I would refuse and that this meetings was only to be on the condition that they stop pursuing me, you were chosen as a backup.” He turned and eyed McCree, eyebrow quirked.  “You were told that once she gave you the signal, you were either to lure me out and kill me or capture me, am I correct? I think I am.” He continued, looking and sounding like more and more of a pompous ass to the cowboy. “However your plans fell apart once I realized an author I recognized was in attendance, and taking advantage of the opportunity, I approached  _ you  _ first, sparking panic in the both of you.”

 

Hanzo stepped forward then, feet almost directly in from of Jesse’s nose, looking down with a knowing expression, as if he’d nailed him with the accusation.

 

It was then that Jesse burst out laughing.

 

God it hurt like hell, his ribs burned and his head lashed out at the attempt, but still, a weak and hoarse tumble of laughter escaped him, echoing off the tiled floor and up into the ears of a very,  _ very  _ confused ex-yakuza.

 

“Jesus Mary an’ Joseph, thats rich. ME, a fuckin’ Talon agent! Yep, caught me red-handed buddy! Y’know Overwatch was called out for a shit-ton back in the day, but really? It was the lack of dental that made me switch sides.” He cackled, snapping his fingers from within his bindings.

 

“Are you mocking me?”

 

“Whaaaaat? Naw, naw… ok maybe just a lil’-hEY!” He yelped, pulling his hands up to cover his face as the other went for another kick.

 

“You expect me to believe that we both ended up at the same party by coincidence? The same  _ hotel? _ You underestimate me, hillbilly.”

 

“Hey, hey, ain’t no need fer name callin’- _ OW! _ Okay I deserved that one, but honest to god, I had no clue shit was gonna hit the fan the way it did. I didn’t even know you were in the same continent, let alone the same buildin’.” He admitted, voice serious. “Hell, had I-I woulda’ hightailed it the hell outta’ there faster than an armadillo gettin shot at with a BB gun.”

 

“Then why were you there? Hm? Explain yourself! Who sent you!?”

 

“Why the hell’re you so obsessed with somebody sendin’ me!?”

 

The assassin looked taken back by the sudden outburst.

 

McCree sighed, letting his head hit the tile.

 

“You said it yerself sug. My authenticity was my downfall. You were there, you saw. I was just followin’ a story.”

 

He expected another kick to the ribs, maybe more shouting or accusations. After all, the man seemed dead set on his little theory. But that didn’t bother McCree. More than anything, the cowboy was looking to stall for time. His eyes were on his kidnapper, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t scanning for the perfect opportunity to make a break for it. In a surprising turn of events however, that didn’t seem necessary. Swearing under his breath, the Shimada ducked out of the room, leaving the door just open enough that McCree could hear the sound of the TV playing in the background.

 

“Uh..? You okay there buddy?”

 

“Shut up!” He heard from afar.  _ Well alrighty then. No need to be rude. _

 

After a few minutes of sitting there, the American began to grow impatient. _Left_ _m'arm on, damn thing’s deactivated though.... I wonder if I can._.. He pondered, rustling about in an attempt to restart the machine when his captor returned, clean clothes and a knife in hand.  
  
"I'm cutting you loose, we must move quickly if we wish to remain undetected, and I cannot afford to carry you at the moment." He stated plainly, dropping the articles and freeing the mercenary's limbs.  
  
The cowboy chuckled, remaining still so the other could work. "And here I thought we had a bond. What, you don't trust lil ol' me?"

 

“Do not get confused, cowboy.” He paused. “I still haven't decided what to do with you. But it would prove to be too much trouble if I kill you now.” His eyes narrowed. “Try my patience however, and you will find that I have many ways to deal with nuisances.”

 

Finished with the job, the man got up and turned to leave, attempting to give his captive a chance for privacy when McCree stopped him.

 

“N’ m’arm?”

 

“Ah.”

 

_ Ah? Did he really fuckin’ manage to forge-oH MY GOD. _

 

Jesse couldn't stop the high pitched noise that left his throat as a the archer whistled and only moments later, an electric blue light emanated from his prosthetic. The light flowed out like a whisp, curing around its summoner and solidifying into a shape Jesse recognized with wide eyes, only it was much smaller than he'd ever remembered seeing before.

 

His arm however, didn't wait for his shock to subside as it flickered to life almost immediately, sending a massive wave of pain into his shoulder. He gasped, nearly crumpling as the readjusting artificial nerves began to reconnect to his organic ones. Usually the process was intense, but not unbearable. Then again, he’d always been  _ prepared _ for it.

 

Shakily, he steadied himself, forcing his breathing to even out before stumbling back up. His… companion? Looked concerned for a fleeting moment before nodding over to his clothes.

 

“Get ready, we leave as soon as you are dressed.”

 

Jesse sood up, not bothering to close the door as he stripped, peeling off his tarnished clothes with a look of disgust. “I don’t suppose you’d take well to a man usin’ the shower on such short schedule!” He joked, not waiting for a response as he pulled the tourist-like outfit on (though in his opinion, having a gleaming metal arm kind of defeated the purpose of it).

 

“Alright, made myself presentable.” He murmured, walking out to find his companion in the same outfit he’d seen in the hallway the day before. “Now where are we heade-”

 

**_*BOOM*_ **

 

“SON OF A BITCH!” 

 

Beneath the two of them, the building lurched violently, throwing them both to the ground. McCree inched forward, reaching a hand out to stabilize himself. “We gotta get outta here, leave everythin’ else!”

 

“What  _ was  _ that!?”

 

“No time to explain! Just move!”

 

He didn’t wait for a response as he grabbed the other’s arm and bolted, leading him with his mechanical grip. He’d seen plenty of Talon bombs go off in his day, but being inside the building when it went sky high? Not good. Still crouched, McCree did his best to guide the archer along the hall, which was eerily empty. _They aren’t tryin’ to bring the place down as far as I can tell, we’d already be dead if that were the case._ _But we’ve gotta get outta here before their ground forces find their way to this floor._ His mind raced, going a hundred miles a minute as he retraced possible exits through his memory. Their best bet at this point was the roof, but with how this seemed to be planned, he feared that they’d be walking right into an ambush.

 

A crash of glass echoing from behind only caused him to pick up the pace.  _ No goin’ back now _ . He steeled himself and headed for the stairs. As his shoe hit the first step though, an unexpected force pulled him back, giving him just enough time to see the gun coming around the corner before it shot directly where his skull would’ve been. In that moment of falling, time seemed to slow as he witnessed the metallic shine of an arrow tip pierce the Talon agent’s helmet.

 

“Up! We must not stop now!” The archer commanded, dragging the stunned American to his feet before practically leaping up the stairs.  _ God damn. _ McCree shook himself off and followed suit. It took them both a while to scale the skyscraper-like building (McCree’s lugs burning much more than he was willing to admit), but eventually they made it, only encountering two more groups they had to deal with along the way.

 

“Alright,” Jesse huffed, laying his palm against the exit door. “One last haul before we get the hell outta here.”

 

“Have you any idea what to expect?” Hanzo asked him, a bit of sweat on his brow. How was he not dying? They climbed like a bajillion godda-off track, snap outta it.

 

“Not really. Looks like they don’t want us dead just yet, so I can only assume they’ve got men out there waitin’ to pounce on anybody stupid enough to head outside.”

 

The other growled at that. “Very well then, perhaps we should teach them some… southern manners.” He smirked, reaching behind before tossing something at Jesse, who caught it with a jolt.

 

“Well I’ll be damned.”

 

In his hands, back with her rightful owner, was Peacekeeper. He grinned cockily. “Well shoot, I can’t think of a better opportunity.” He whooped, cracking his neck and gripping the weapon tight before kicking open the bright red door.


End file.
